“Why don’t we rest awhile.” She put a hand to my cheek. “It’s probably the safest spot for miles.”
The road was empty and quiet, and the rain had slackened to a drizzle. Drops from overhanging pines pinged on the roof like a distant drumroll, a martial lullaby. Litzi lowered her seat and curled up facing me. I opened the windows a fraction for fresh air, and instantly smelled the resin of the pines. Then I lowered my own seat and stretched out as best I could. I was almost instantly asleep.
An hour or so later I awakened to voices and the steady tapping of water on the roof. A flashlight beam veered into the car, and I sat up with a start, stiff and disoriented. Voices were speaking Czech, but the windows were fogged. I rubbed a hand on the windshield and saw a police car canted in front of us, blocking our way, not that we were capable of moving. Looking over my shoulder I saw a second police car wedged behind us. A cop was training his flashlight on our German tags. There was a sharp knock on the driver’s side window, which awakened Litzi.
“What’s happening?” she said groggily.
“Cops.” I rolled down the window.
The policeman leaned down, smelling strongly of aftershave. He said something in Czech that I couldn’t understand, so I answered in English.
“Sorry, I don’t speak your language.”
He sighed, then consulted with the other one, who took his place at the window.
“Your documents, please.”
I fished out my passport and D.C. driver’s license, hoping that was all he’d want. He inspected them carefully, then leaned down again.
“Auto registration papers, please.”
Shit.
I made a show of searching the glove compartment and rifling through the map, then spread my hands in a plaintive shrug.
“I seem to have misplaced them.”
He turned and spoke to his partner, which set off a flurry of activity. The flashlight beam went back to the tags, and the cops nodded as they spoke. One went to his car and got on the radio while the other one stood by my door, backing away a step and eyeing me closely. We were in trouble.
Litzi unlatched her door, and the cop on my side perked up like a soldier on alert. He dropped his right hand to the holster of his sidearm and shouted to his colleague.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
“Let me handle this.”
She slowly opened the door and stepped carefully into the night. Now both cops had their hands on their guns.
“Litzi, what are you doing?”
“Stay in the car.” Her tone conveyed absolute authority and poise. Impressive, if unnerving.
The policemen approached from either side. They looked calmer now. She turned away me from me and began speaking to them in a tone too low for me even to tell what language she was using. Within a few seconds the three of them were conferring with hand gestures and nods, like a committee meeting with Litzi presiding. The cop from the rear car returned to his vehicle and again got on the radio. I saw him speak into his handset, wait awhile, and then nod as he spoke again. He came back up front and took the other cop aside.
Their body language was interesting. A few shrugs, a sag of the shoulders, and a burst of animated movement. The cop who made the radio call seemed to be trying to calm the other one. All the while, Litzi watched patiently from a few feet away, arms folded. The first policemen then got into his car, slammed the door, and drove away in a spray of gravel.
The second one spoke briefly to Litzi and turned to go. He was about to get in his car when Litzi barked something that made him sigh and nod. He walked behind the Mercedes and, like a suspect under arrest, spread his legs wide and placed his hands against the trunk.
“He’s going to push,” Litzi shouted. “Start the engine and see if you can get us out.”
Amazing. I did as she asked-why not, everything she was doing seemed to be working-and after a few seconds of heaving and rocking, the Mercedes gained just enough traction to crawl onto the shoulder.
Litzi shouted her thanks and hopped in. The cop wiped his hands on his trousers, got back into his cruiser, and drove away.
“That was miraculous. How did you manage?”
“I told them I was German, that it was my husband’s car and you were my boyfriend, and that, well, it was a long story. But they believed me.”
“German? What if they’d asked for your passport?”
“I told them I left it at the hotel.”
“What if they’d phoned the hotel?”
“Do you have any more questions, officer? It worked, didn’t it?”
I wanted to believe her, but it didn’t sound like the sort of half-baked story that would have passed muster with cops. But if I gave voice to those doubts, where would we be then?
“Okay. No more stops, though. Not until Prague.”
Within fifteen minutes the rain stopped. Within half an hour the moon peeped through torn clouds as leaves blew across the highway. Litzi had hardly said a word.
“You don’t trust me, do you?” she finally said.
“Why do you say that?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know what to think anymore. Even Valerie Humphries noticed something. She said you were jealous of what I knew, and that you must know something, too.”
“That woman spent forty years being paid to be suspicious. What would you expect her to say? But as long as you’re being suspicious about everyone, try starting with your friend Karel.”
“Why, because his dad spied on me?”
“How did your handler know about the Cave, that place where the two of you used to play?”
I squeezed the steering wheel, not wanting to admit that the question had already crossed my mind.
“I don’t know what to think about anybody anymore.”
Even my father, I almost added, and Litzi seemed to realize I’d held something back. She lowered her seat and again curled up on her side, this time facing away from me.
I drove on toward Prague, alone with my worries.
27
The morning brought sunlight and a better mood. With nothing on our schedule until nightfall, when I was due to meet Bruzek at his bookstore, we slept late and awoke refreshed.
I went down to the lobby for a copy of the local English-language daily, then ordered a room service breakfast while Litzi showered. We moved the tray next to the open window, Litzi in her robe and me in a T-shirt and jeans. Whatever tension had existed the night before, a mutual calm now prevailed, and neither of us wanted to spoil it.
Litzi’s phone beeped, and she smiled when she saw the message.
“From your father,” she said. “Some friend of his ran down that email address.”
I eagerly looked over her shoulder, but the news was disappointing. The messages from K-Fresh 62 had been routed via servers in Vienna and London from points unknown, and the identity was registered to a John Brown of New York, New York. An obvious fake who knew how to cover his tracks.
“So much for that lead,” I said, gloomy again.
Litzi smiled and took my hand.
“We should do something fun this afternoon,” she said. “Go off by ourselves somewhere, if only for a while.”
